Our lives are defined by opportunities; even the ones we miss
	—Benjamin Button

Maybe like Benjamin Button I will age
backward, a being growing younger as he
moves ahead in his life, inch by inch. 

I walk toward a mother’s voice calling me
home for dinner after riding a bike,
father’s bark when I pushed him too far. 

In this fog, I wander, following
their ghostly voices in the night,
knowing in my right mind they are gone.

In my left, wishing for one more miracle,
but miracles happen only to mortals 
who don’t play by the rules, discern too much,

believe in both taken and missed opportunities.
Maybe like Benjamin I will age, as I crawl closer
to the beginning, stop gracefully when I reach the start. 
                        

	I went out to the hazel wood,
	Because a fire was in my head
	—W.B. Yeats

Bundle up when you walk tonight, my dear,
imagine me strolling beside you close.
I didn’t run to meet you, have no fear
of noise or any heated words we chose.  

I pledged to stay silent throughout the night,
convinced my quick fire was not a whim. 
I couldn’t put it out, it got so bright,
this page the only thing to make it dim.

There’s nothing more important than the fact
I need you to forgive myself a bit.
It’s like a movie scene we choose to act
in black and white to make it seem legit. 

I’ll walk you safely home in my poor mind,
more rich and warm with little left behind.